Stark Raving Red
by xfighterplane
Summary: -"It takes me ten seconds to get out of bed, thirty seconds to run downstairs and open the door, and three embarrassing minutes to realize that I'm not wearing any pants. Oh, crap." The holidays can be a magical time, right? Dylan/Landon, two-shot.
1. some kind of blunderful

_For Asha,_

_who always remembers her pants,_

_most of the time.  
_

* * *

When the doorbell rings at nine AM on a Saturday morning at the Marvil Manor, I expect the bringer of early morning hell to be one of three people:

Merri-Lee Marvil, the mother. Or so she claims. When America's favorite talk show host isn't off hosting lavish after parties and attending swanky meetings with advertisers, she remembers that she, you know, has a seventeen year old daughter still at home. And in that case, she'll amble in at an unreasonable hour, still in her outfit from the day before with her hair mussed and red-eyed, asking me how's middle school going. Lovely.

Layne Abeley, the best friend. Perhaps my favorite anarchist found out that the beloved Westchester Mall has multiple health code violation or that our school doesn't offer male rhythmic gymnastics? Expect her to be at the door, fresh picket signs in hand, ready to coerce me into fighting the power with her. Even if I'm fighting to keep my eyes open.

Katerina, the cleaning lady. But she has a key. She only rings the doorbell to make sure I'm aware that it's her vacuuming the living room, and not some neat freak burglar.

Either way, I can't stand being woken up before noon on the weekends. Come on, I wake up at five AM five days a week. All that missed sleep needs to catch up with me somehow.

* * *

It was a Saturday morning, a blissful, perfect Saturday morning. The sky was a blinding gray, with snowflakes falling lightly and carelessly from the sky. From the window, the sound of children having snowball fights and a choir practicing "Winter Wonderland" blasted into every home on the block. Yes, the holidays were here and it seemed like all of Westchester was out, welcoming the return of the most wonderful time of the year.

Well, except for me. Of course, I was practically passed out in my room, wrapped in about five different blankets and pillows. My movie from last night, Titanic, was paused on the iconic scene where Jack and Rose are in the water, pledging to never let go. Except, in my dream, I was Rose and I had moved over to let Jack share the door-float thing with me. And we both survived. And live happily ever after.

And then, between Rose-me and Jack deciding whether or not we should go to Spain or India for a honeymoon, the doorbell rang.

Yes, the worst sound in the world: the doorbell on a lazy Saturday morning. The shrill bell echoed louder in my empty house, sending shock waves of irritation in my system. Was there no injustice in this world? Would I ever get to finish my dreams?

Letting out a swear, I threw the layers of blankets off of me in a rage. "All I ask," I grumbled to myself as stomped out of my room and down the stairs, "is to not be bothered at this hour. Not world peace. Not a billion dollars. Sleep. That's all I want, dammit." Needless to say, I was pissed.

If it was my mom, I'd give her a stern talking-to about the importance about keeping a house key. If it was Layne, I'd tell her she's not allowed to hit me up for protesting because I can't make myself care about the rights of male rhythmic gymnasts this early. And if was Katerina, well, I'd try to communicate in the bits of Polish that I picked up from her that I just don't give a crap if someone breaks into our house unless they do it to wake me up.

The doorbell rang again. The absolute nerve of the person! Unless you happened to be on fire and my house is the only one with water or you're running from gun wielding mobsters, you do not ring the doorbell twice. Ever.

"_What?_" I couldn't help but growl as I swung open the heavy wood doors. I regretted opening the door so fast, a burst of cold hair hit me hard, goosebumps popped up all over my body.

I was so ready to lecture, scream, or attempt to speak Polish, I really was. Except it wasn't my mom, Layne, or Katerina.

It was Landon Crane. _Landon effing Crane_.

Landon Crane, the resident enigma. Step-brother of Kristen and Derrick Harrington, the blond dynamic duo who practically own Octavian Country Day and most likely your soul. He's the classic black sheep. Tall, dark, and mysterious, of course. Nobody at school really knows much about him except for the fact that he moved to Westchester from New York City after his mother's marriage to John Harrington and shows up to classes only when it suits him to unleash his inner smartass. When he's not the subject of outlandish rumors (banged the hot art teacher, stole the dean's car, deals drugs on the side), he can NOT be seen at the front door of my home. Smiling.

If that name doesn't have a Voldemort-level effect on you, please go get yourself checked out at the nearest mental rehabilitation center. Because you better believe I gasped loudly and nearly fell over from the shock when I realized it was him at my house.

"Hey, Dylan," Landon greeted casually, like he did this thing all the time. Almost giving girls heart attacks, that is. He had a ridiculous Santa hat over his disheveled dark hair, carrying a box of cream colored envelopes. So many questions raced through my mind, like how did he know where I live? What was in the envelopes? Wait, Landon knew my name? We don't run in the same circles, let alone the same similar shapes.

"Landon?" I wanted to say, but it actually turned out to be a string of nonsensical babbles. Maybe it was the Polish getting out?

And then something even stranger happened. It was like Landon took a closer look at me, and then his gray eyes widened. And looked like he was stifling a laugh. And he averted my (confused) gaze.

"Uh, Dylan?" he said with a nervous chuckle, gesturing at my bottom half. Nervous? Landon Crane? I furrowed my brows, perplexed before looking down at my bare, pale legs. Funny, I don't remember wearing shorts this short...I thought, and then it hit me.

Holy shit. Holy shit on a stick. I'm not wearing shorts. I'm not even wearing _pants_.

It was like the cliched humiliating dream, finding yourself only in underwear at the worst possible time. Except this wasn't a dream, because Jack Dawson wasn't in it. Landon Crane was.

So, I did what any logical, sensible person would do in a situation like this.

I slammed the door in his face.

"SHIT!" I screamed, looking down at my bright yellow underwear. God, couldn't I have at least worn the nice blue ones? Instead of the obscenely neon ones with a cartoon lion right on the crotch. I was a liability to myself, not just society anymore.

And then another thought hit me. I slammed the door in Landon Crane's face after he saw me in my unmentionables. I could redeem myself, right? I mean, there was literally a 0.05% chance of Landon Crane ever showing up at my door again. All I had to do was make up a lie of some sorts, calmly explaining why I was in my underwear in a rational manner.

Oh, screw it. I'll wing it.

Sprinting to the laundry, I practically threw myself in the hamper in search of pants. I prayed that I could find my cute plaid pajama bottoms or even my yoga pants, but instead I was met with nothing but suspiciously dirty sweats. Groaning in anguish, I closed my eyes and grabbed the first pair of pants and threw them on.

Ugh. They also happened to be the obnoxiously baggy black ones, which a weird barbecue stain from last week. But, it was better than nothing.

Inhaling deeply, I tried to calm the frenzy of nerves in my stomach as I ran back to the front door. Logically speaking, there was no way this could possibly get worse. Landon saw me in my underwear, he's hot: he probably sees plenty of girls in their underwear. At least from what Olivia Ryan and her bunch mentioned. This was most likely a very typical day in the life of Landon Crane, in that case. Except he doesn't have to kick said girl with only underwear on out of bed.

Good lord, help me.

I opened the door meekly, the creak of the door magnified in my ears. Then, I had an even worse realization. What if he left? What if the sight of me in my unmentionables freaked him out, and now he's going to go back to his cool friends and be all, "_yeah, that Dylan Marvil? Epic fail of a human bein_g"? And then his cool friends would most likely call me crude and untrue names.

I peered out of the crack of the door. He was still there, just texting somebody on a beat up cell phone, still holding the box envelopes like he was simply waiting for me to come outside again.

Damn him.

Another inhale of oxygen; what did I have to lose anymore? "Hey," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I opened the door all the way. Landon raised an eyebrow at me curiously before putting his phone away.

His expression was virtually unreadable. Relaxed mouth, heavily lidded eyes, no visible flush in his cheeks. It looked as though he may have taken the Mother Teresa route, and will forget he ever saw me in that yellow monstrosity called underwear. How saintly.

"I see you found your pants," he replied sharply, with a wolfish sort of grin. I take it back. He was no Mother Teresa at all.

My face instantly reddened, and the cool winter air felt even icier against my hot cheeks. "Yeah, I try," I mumbled, darting my eyes to the ground.

Landon let out a loud, hearty laugh, a reaction I was most definitely not expecting. "Got someone up there?" he asked, eyes sparkling in a rakish way. Oh goodness, Landon Crane thought I'm some sort of seductress. Dylan Marvil and seducing don't mix, at all.

"Yeah, Ben and Jerry," I managed to deadpan, silently admiring myself for the quick comeback. To make it even better, I remembered that I actually had some Cherry Garcia ice cream in the freezer. Success!

"Sounds scandalous, Red," Landon responded. _Red_? Usually, I couldn't stand that stereotypical nickname based on the color of my hair. But from him, it didn't sound so bad.

"Typical Saturday morning." I attempted to smooth out my wild curls, but like most of my attempts to do anything, it didn't work.

Landon suddenly snapped to attention. "So," he began as dug out a cream colored envelope with D. Marvil embossed in gold, "I'm here to invite you to the annual Harrington Holiday Extravaganza. Exclamation point." Don't let the words fool you, he sounded like he was selling root canals for minimum wage.

I peered curiously at the envelope and back at him. "Is it really called that?"

"It's actually called _The Yearly Excuse To Show Off How Much Money We've Made_ Christmas Party," he said dryly, "but yeah, Harrington Holiday Extravaganza for short."

I let out a chuckle. "Sounds enticing."

"Totally enticing," Landon repeated with a grin, "so you coming?"

You didn't think three simple words could temporarily turn your brain off and send your heart racing a mile a minute. But to be fair, it could've happened to anyone.

"Ah, oh the party?" I stammered once more, "I'm Jewish. Well, my dad's Jewish. Or at least that's what my mom says, I'm not actually sure. But she's kinda into Buddhism at the moment and my sister's engaged to a Muslim and my other sister's studying Taoism. And my housekeeper is also Jewish, just remembered." Oh, goodness. Kill me. Just let me choke on my word vomit and die a slithering mess on my front door step. Please.

Landon's eyes widened, so I quickly added, "But we celebrate Christmas." Frack, was that last spiel even necessary?

But he smiled and said, "Wow, lots of different beliefs, eh? That's cool, I'd like to check out other traditions too but Old Man Harrington is kinda traditional." He was being genuine, it was obvious by his amiable eyes.

"Old Man Harrington?" I questioned, trying to take the subject off of me and back to the oh so mysterious Mr. Crane.

Landon's smile fell slightly, but was still there. "Yeah, the mastermind. Time to spread a little holiday cheer after ruining everyone else's through the year." I had to admit, he had guts for being so blunt about Mr. Harrington. If Layne's speeches on the Harrington Company were to be believed, he was nothing more than a "power crazed monopolist." Nice to know someone kind of agreed with her, even if that someone was his new step-son.

"That rhymed," I noted lamely, "so you got roped into helping out?"

"But of course, mademoiselle," he snorted with a posh French accent, "gotta make the Harrington name proud, seeing as dear Derrick and Kristen are slacking a bit," he finished sarcastically. He had a point: when it came to overachieving , his step-siblings put everyone to shame.

"I forgot you were the golden child. Hell, I forget we go to the same school," I said dryly, forgetting who exactly I was talking. I was being sarcastic to Landon Crane, the mystery that everyone at school was dying to figure out. And were talking, just speaking (semi, for me) normally like two (semi, once again for me) normal people. It was like an out of body experience.

But then again, he's seen me in my underwear. We've got a special bond now.

Instead of moodily turning away like most people do after being insulted, he laughed in a self-deprecating sort of way. "You've got me pegged, don't you, Red?"

"As what?"

"As _something_," he decided after pausing for a few moments. "I bet you believe all the rumors about me engaging in illicit affairs with teachers and grand theft auto."

"Drugs," I added, "you forgot the drugs."

"Of course," he agreed, nodding his head seriously, "it's how I've made my fortune, after all. Gonna retire at nineteen at this rate."

There was another pause between us, mostly because I couldn't think of anything quite snappy enough to respond with. Just when I was about to make a comment about other bits of gossip he was the star of (specifically, did he really hook up with Olivia Ryan?) , Landon's phone started buzzing loudly.

Checking it quickly, his face soured. "It's Kristen, probably wondering why I'm not done yet. You know, for someone as smart as her, I'm surprised it hadn't occurred to her to just mail these invitations."

"Not as festive," I explained with a shrug.

"Ah, well, you do what you can." He adjusted his Santa hat, his hair flopping around in different directions. "I've got to jet, but promise you'll tear yourself away from Ben and Jerry to come to the party? I could use some sane company."

Sane? Me? Did he miss my grand entrance or something? But then, my insides went all tingly and my face started to heat: he wanted me to go to the party. He wanted me to hang out with him. Not bad for a Saturday morning at all.

"Yeah, I'll definitely try," I responded coolly, trying to sound nonchalant and harried by the thought of making plans. Except I probably just squeaked those words out.

Landon beamed, and I couldn't help but smile a bit back. "Great, just one thing though?" he asked as he made his way to step off the porch.

"Yeah?"

"Don't forget to put on some pants."

* * *

**author's note: The next chapter is the party, so expect some more Dylan/Landon cracky holiday goodness! I know I've had a story titled Stark Raving Red before, but I deleted that because the plot was too wonky, but the title fit here so much better :p  
**

**I'm going to be updating "You, Me, and the Great Inbetween" soon, so watch out for that! :)**

**Hope you guys all enjoyed this (especially you, Asha!)**

**xo,**

**Ren  
**


	2. five minutes til midnight

"_Are you fucking demente_d?" That was the first thing my best friend Layne said when I called and told her the oh so harrowing story about Landon Crane seeing me in my underwear and then inviting me to the Harrington Holiday bash. I expected her to console me, possibly even bring me over some cookies to take away the trauma of having arguably the one of the best looking guys at school see me looking like a mess, but no. Her hatred of everything Harrington made it impossible for her to have a shred of empathy.

"Yes," I sighed deeply, glancing at the clock again. The party was in a few hours, and I hadn't accomplished much to make myself ready besides making a "get pumped" mix. "I am. I don't know how you didn't notice, seeing as you've known me for so long."

"That's not funny," she huffed on the other line of the phone, turning down whatever underground anarchist music she was into at the moment. "You know how I feel about the Harringtons and their whole stupid company."

This mix was doing nothing for me. "They're not that bad," I tried to reason with her, as I dug through my closet looking for something nice to wear.

Her stony silence was her answer. "Okay, they're that bad," I corrected myself, "but Landon seems okay." I would've finished with "and he wants me there", but Layne would've definitely went off on listing every rumor about him. For somebody who prides herself on truth seeking, she could gossip with the best of them.

"Landon seems okay for a Harrington," she replied, "but that's like saying a murderer seems okay because he kills his victims with a spoon instead of a machete."

"Well when I see Landon off somebody with a spoon, I'll be sure to tell you," I responded dryly. Shit. I had about two hours left to get ready. Judging by my current state of appearance (bushy hair, splotchy skin, under eye circles), I would need a bonafide miracle.

"Oh, look, Landon's coming at me with a soup spoon! And with no crackers, the horror!" I chuckled at my own lame joke, but Layne was still going off about how the Harringtons would be the death of Westchester. "Bye, Layne. See you at my funeral!" I shut off my phone before hearing her response. Sometimes its hard to be friends with Layne, she's got a lot of expectations, misplaced anger, and far too much time on her hands.

On my way to the bathroom, I caught another look at my face. Ouch. I was going to need a lot more time than I thought.

* * *

In case you're wondering, I _did_ remember to wear pants. Nice ones even, the navy blue, slim fitted pinstripe ones that my mother forced me to buy from Bergdorfs. With a cream colored blouse and matching towering heels, I thought I looked pretty decent. Hell, even my hair managed to look...well, manageable. And for me, this was not only a miracle. This was like luck and miracles had a baby who then mated with _awesome_.

However, the moment I walked into the Harrington Holiday Extravaganza in the ballroom of the Fitzwilliam Hotel, it hit me that every single girl in the room looked great. Times ten. Seriously, it was as if all the females invited to this party had a secret conference of sorts, deciding how amazing they needed to look on a scale of one to ten. And they had chosen five thousand.

It was eerie to see the people from my school look so good. I mean, a good majority the so called A-list was ridiculously good-looking to begin with, and something about the lights and music and champagne only amplified it. I'd bet my left kidney that Kristen and Derrick Harrington planned this on purpose, overachievers.

Trying to keep my cool, I strolled to the back of the room, near the bar. Not that I drank or anything, but giving my feet a well deserved break (high heels, man, torture) sounded heavenly. The bartender coolly handed me a glass filled with sparkling water. Having perfected a nonchalant slouch and indifferent facial expression—all to hide how nervous I was—all there was left to do was people watch. Specifically person watch. Even more specifically Landon Crane watch.

The event was in full swing, and I had to hand it to Kristen and Derrick, they sure knew how to throw a party. Massie Block and her designer cronies were, as usual, fawned over by the soccer boys. Womanizing Griffin Hastings looked like he was about to score with a particularly leggy waitress. Hell, even the elusive Alicia Rivera showed up on the arm of her British boyfriend. Apparently she left school for a few weeks and came back with him and a bunch of art deals; clearly I need to be taking vacation tips from her.

It was like anyone who was anyone was there. Except for the one person I actually wanted to see.

"Stalk, much?" A deep voice whispered in my ear, causing me to choke on my sparkling water. Any normal person would have apologized and made sure I wasn't about to die, but Landon Crane just chuckled like I had said something funny.

"I wasn't stalking anyone," I sputtered out, willing myself not to blush, "I was merely studying the crowd."

"Ah, so you're an educated stalker? Nice," he said with a grin before giving me the once over. "I see you remembered your pants."

I tried to distract myself from the ever-present embarrassment of Underweargate by looking him over and thinking of a response. "I see you didn't," I blurted out with a strange mix between a guffaw and a cough.

And that was true. Landon Crane was not wearing pants. Forgoing the obvious male fashion code of dress pants and a nice shirt, he chose to wear an incredibly tacky sweater with a zigzag pattern and a plaid kilt. That's right, a kilt. As in, the stereotypical Scottish highlands, _where-are-my-bag-pipes_ kilt.

I guess my blatant staring was a cue for him to shrug and say, "What can I say? You've inspired me, Dylan Marvil. Who the hell needs pants?" It looked like he was pained trying to keep a straight face.

I was not so easily amused. "Ha-ha, Landon. Real funny. Left me in stitches," I deadpanned, smoothing out my blouse for any wrinkles.

"That was the plan, Red," he replied. A few people turned around to gape at his get-up, but I'd bet they were more curious as to how he could still manage to look good and why he was talking to the crazy redhead.

Suddenly, somebody came to their senses and played some more upbeat music rather than the pretentious classical music the Harringtons put on to seem more cultured. The floor of the ballroom was taken over by hordes of my schoolmates, dancing like there was no tomorrow and their parents weren't getting drunk with their business partners across the room. Before I knew it, Landon tapped me on my arm with a wicked smile and said the few words that, had it been anyone else, I would've dreaded:

"Wanna dance?"

* * *

I learned quickly that Landon had a very different definition of dancing and that he took it very seriously. Most of the people on the dance floor simply moved to the music in a way that matched the song, I usually just awkwardly shuffle around and pretend like I know what I'm doing.

"The most important thing I can teach you," Landon began with an authoritative voice, dragging me to middle of the dance floor, "is to become one with the melody."

I stifled a laugh. "Are you serious?" Feeling a bit strange just standing in the middle of the dancing and jumping crowd, I busted out my signature half-assed foot shuffle to keep in time with the rhythm.

"Dead serious." He nodded, then watched me attempt to dance for a moment. "You have much to learn, young grasshopper."

With that, Landon became my own personal dance teacher for that night. For somebody with a "mysterious" background, he was surprisingly relaxed. More than once, a few people from the A-list would see how talkative he was and try to capitalize on that rare occurrence, but he would quickly return back to his cooler demeanor, until returning back to me.

I never expected him to have the dance skills he did. Especially while wearing a kilt, even though he notified me that he decided to ignore tradition and wear shorts underneath, to my relief. Regardless, Landon led me through a strange tango, an energetic foxtrot, and a surprisingly fun attempt at fist pumping. Not that I was any good at it, but he didn't seem to care as he spun me and around and laughed heartily. Somewhere along the lines, I stopped caring too.

"Fifteen minutes to midnight!" Somebody yelled over the music, leading to an ensuing cheer from everyone Had time really gone by that fast? It felt like just minutes ago I was searching the crowd for him, and now I was in the middle of it with him. Strange, the way things work out.

Landon and I walked back to the bar and past the clusters of underage kids trying to bribe the bartenders for martinis or shots of vodka. There were a few whispers of "_there's Landon_" or "_why is he wearing a skirt_?", but it was like the music in the background to me: there, but not really.

We sat down on the stools, just aimlessly chatting and watching the scene unfold out in front of us. I was halfway through a story about how my mom once sold my favorite pair of rollerskates to the neighbors before she was famous when Landon interrupted and randomly exclaimed, "The roof!"

I furrowed my eyebrows, mildly annoyed by the interference. The story had a really good ending involving me and a pair on nunchucks. "What?"

"We should go on the roof," he said simply, with the excitement of a kid. "You can finish your story there," he added after seeing my bitter facial expression. "I want you to see something."

I exhaled reluctantly. "Fine," I agreed, "but I've got to go to the bathroom. I'll meet you there."

"Cool," Landon responded as he stood up from seat, "just take the elevator straight up there, don't piss off security, take the left hand door and you're golden."

Before I could question his odd directions (what do you mean don't piss off security? how does he know that?), he was already walking the other way, whistling a tune under his breath that I somehow could hear over the pounding music.

* * *

The ladies room of the Fitzwilliam Hotel was just as fancy as I predicted. Nice wallpaper, functioning soap dispensers, couches, and even a lady to hand you a fresh wash towel. Needless to say, it was a pretty pleasant experience.

Until it became awkward.

Innocently washing my hands and subsequently wondering why Landon wanted to go to the roof—and I won't lie, Layne's spoon murderer theory came back to me—I barely noticed when the party's perfect hostess walked in. Sometimes you build up such an image of somebody else in your head that you can't help but be disappointed when you really see them, but let me tell you, Kristen Harrington was just as flawless as I thought. Pin straight blond hair, icy blue eyes, and unnaturally clear skin—she was a walking magazine cover.

I tried not to stare, but she just sort of radiates this weird glow that makes you need to stare. Unfortunately, I focused way too intently on my hands to cover it up.

As expected, Kristen touched up her perfect visage with a bit more gloss and mascara and I smoothed my frizzing hair into a bun on the top of my head. So much for manageable.

And then something strange happened. "I've never seen him like this, you know," Kristen said, while applying another coat of mascara.

Idiot like I am, it took me a few moments to realize that there was nobody else in the bathroom and therefore she must have been talking to me. "What?" I replied lamely.

"Landon," she clarified coolly, "he's never like this." It hit me that I never actually heard Kristen speak. Her voice was nothing like I expected, sort of low and boyish for somebody as overtly feminine as her.

"Like how?" I couldn't help but ask, trying to ignore the frenzy of emotions I could feel in the pit of my stomach.

"I can't really explain it," she mused, "but he would never be caught dead at something like this." She paused before looking me over and putting her makeup back in her clutch. "At least before he met you."

With that, she gave me a seemingly unreadable expression that I could decipher quickly: "_so don't mess this up, okay_?" and she walked right out the bathroom, just as sudden as she came in. Maybe she and her step-brother were more alike than I thought.

Glancing at my watch, I realized that there was only five minutes until midnight and somebody was waiting for me up on the roof.

* * *

"What took you so long?" Landon asked when I finally made it up to the rooftop and with three minutes to spare. Granted, I was extremely out of breath, but I had not pissed off any security personnel. Which should, in the grand scheme of my life until this point, earn me some kind of medal.

I sat down on the ledge of the roof next to him, secretly stalling. I don't think Kristen would've appreciated me divulging our semi-conversation to Landon, especially since it was about him, "Elevator issues," I answered quickly. "What did you want me to see?"

He grinned mischievously. "Gotta wait it out, Red. It's coming." The thrill of sitting so close to him made me almost forget how mind-numbingly cold it was. It was snowing lightly, and each snowflake that landed on my bare arms made me want to hit myself for not bringing a coat.

Landon didn't seem so bothered by the weather at all. "Kilt keeping you warm?" I teased, trying hard not to overtly shiver.

He was so intent on watching the city skyline—and I didn't notice how amazing of a view we had—that it took him a few seconds to answer me. "Of course, that's the power of the kilt. Along with being ridiculously sexy, it's also incredibly warm."

"You should really go into advertising."

Even from the roof top, I could hear the countdown to midnight beginning from the ballroom. Shouts of "_59, 58, 57.._." rang out, and for a select group of people who prided themselves on keeping a level head, they were awfully excited. And then a realization hit me with the force of a thousand bricks.

Landon wanted to kiss me. At midnight. Which is why he wanted me on the roof.

Shit. No wonder I was perpetually in singledom, I was too oblivious to romance. Even the really obvious shows of romance, such as a guy inviting you to a party and then wants to be with you alone at the stroke of midnight.

"_20, 19, 18..._" The countdown was louder, and there was only seconds until I, Dylan Marvil the Queen of the Pantsless, would kiss Landon Crane, King of Mystery and Kilts. I must say, it had a nice ring to it.

"Watch out, now, it's almost here," Landon whispered, keeping his gaze on the cloudy sky. There were patches of black in between the gray, sprinkled with stars. I followed his lead and watched the sky, though I could hardly stand still from the anticipation of the kiss. My lips were numb from the cold and slightly chapped, I hoped that wouldn't put him off.

"_5! 4!_" I could feel the shock waves in my system pounding, and it quickly became harder to breathe properly from the anticipation.

"_3! 2!_" Landon grabbed my arm, still focused on the sky. _This is it, _I thought, _he's going to kiss me..._

"_1! Happy New Year!_" And then, in a turn of events, many things happened at the same time. An enormous roar of cheers erupted from the ballroom and the hotel surroundings, while the skies erupted with a dazzling array of fireworks. A swirl of reds, golds, and greens lit up the sky, temporarily adding color to the pale snowflakes as they fell back to earth.

The worst part was, however, that I actually leaned in to Landon with my lips have pursed and ready for the first kiss of the year. Until, sadly, I realized that Landon wasn't leaning back. Or even looking in my direction.

"Look, Red!" he called out loudly with glee, pointing at the fireworks, "we've got the best view in the city!"

My lips deflated along with my heart. Of course. He didn't want to kiss me, he wanted to see some damn fireworks on top of the roof. I doubt that the phrase "hey, I'm gonna kiss Dylan" even registered in his head.

If I could have pushed him off the roof and not be tried for murder, I would have. Oh believe me, I would have.

So for the remainder of the fireworks display, I sat sullenly while Landon watched with amazement. A part of me was amazed by the fireworks too, but that part was quickly beaten up by the part that was bitter about not being kissed. Extreme black coffee level bitter.

Eventually, Landon turned back to me, with an exhilarated smile on his face. "Damn, remind me again why buying fireworks is illegal in this state?"

"Because they can hurt people. A lot."_ And take them to rooftops on New Year's and then not kiss them._

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," he replied as he stretched his arms and yawned. He glanced at his watch. "Wow, can't believe it's a new year already."

I tried to smirk. "You have three hundred and sixty five days to get used to it." It didn't really work.

"That's not really long when you think about it," he pointed out before standing up. "Ah, we should probably get back to the party. I have a feeling that a lot of people are drunk to the point of hilarity by now."

"Can't miss that." And so we walked back through the door on the left, pass security without pissing them off, and into the elevator to join the crowds once more. Sure, I could've been a lot more upbeat and maybe attempt to steal the security man's hat or badge, but I didn't have the heart. Disappointment was easily the worst feeling.

The ride back down to the elevator was a long one, even if I finished telling my rollerskate story. The awesome nun-chuck ending couldn't even lift my non-kissed spirits. Not that Landon noticed, he had on that constant half-grin of his, but this time he looked like he just didn't want to laugh.

"I think I should head home soon, my mom's probably gonna get worried," I said with a slight sigh, knowing full well my mom was partying in the Hamptons with a few of her celebrity colleagues.

Landon snorted. "On New Year's? Come on, stay out a little. The year is young," he coerced with a posh voice.

"Nah," I declined, "I'm a little tired anyway." I couldn't help laugh a little as I added, "And I'm all danced out."

The elevator door pinged and we were one floor away from the ballroom. Landon exhaled sharply and mussed his hair a bit. "If you say so," he said, "but hey Red?"

"Yeah?" I answered, gathering my car keys from my purse as I felt the jolt of the elevator descend one more floor.

And then between the elevator door opening with the sounds of the crowds rushing in and me trying to keep my balance, Landon lightly cupped my face with his hands and kissed me. A real kiss, not the kind you save for people you only half-like and think, "what the hell? It's the holidays." But the_ oh-goodness-I-take-back-everything-about-pushing-you-off-the-roof_ and_ clearly-I-was-too-busy-focusing-on-your-kilt-to-realize-how-great-your-lips-are_ type of kiss, for the people that truly matter. At least, that's what I got out of it.

But when he pulled away from me with a brilliant smile, I couldn't help but think that maybe, he felt the same way. "Goodnight," Landon said to finish everything off, turning away and walking back into the party that had stopped for a brief moment in time to watch the most unlikely pair.

Oxygen managed to find it's way back into my body, allowing my brain to fully register just how tingly my lips still were. The elevator door closed once more as it moved toward the parking lot, but I wasn't overcome with an immediate need to find Landon and maybe stay out and dance on the rooftop. My mother had once told me that's best to leave the night on a high note, and I would be embarking on the highest note possible.

After all, the year was young.

* * *

**author's note: oh, I know what you're thinking: it's not new years! it's january 23rd! way to update on time!**

**I know. Exams started to kick my butt this year, so let's start an angry mob with pitchforks and torches and go to my school. Or build a time machine so I could go back in time and post this when it's, you know, actually the holidays. **

**I hope you guys enjoyed this story, be sure to tell me what you think! Thanks for all the lovely reviews on this and my other stories as well! :)**

**xo,**

**Ren**

**PS: did you notice the not-so sneaky shout out to "it takes a thief?" ~*im sew clevr*~  
**


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